


Normal

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things that weren't normal are slowly becoming so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Porn Battle VII](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/395384.html). Wonderful beta by [](http://speccygeekgrrl.livejournal.com/profile)[**speccygeekgrrl**](http://speccygeekgrrl.livejournal.com/).

Sleeping together had become normal. After that first time, when a half-stoned motel receptionist had taken a brief look and got exactly the wrong idea, they had agreed to share a bed. It was cheaper, and neither wanted to argue with a junkie at the front desk after a long day driving.

Dean got used to Sam hogging the sheets. Sam got used to Dean snoring.

The first time Sam reached over in his sleep and pulled Dean close, he'd gotten a sleepless night and a black eye for his trouble. The second time was much the same. After that, Dean learned to live with it. You can't help what you do when you're unconscious, after all. It wasn't like Sam was kicking him or anything. And to be quite honest-- not that he was willing to do so-- Dean had kind of liked the warmth.

It hadn't seemed very normal the first time he found himself staring at Sam's face in the darkness and marveling at how serene he looked, how the shadows kissed his lips and tucked beneath his cheek on the pillow. It downright ached to look at him like that, and even though Dean knew it was wrong, he nevertheless found himself craning his neck to plant a soft kiss on his brother's half-shadowed mouth. "G'night, Sammy," he'd muttered, and turned over to go to sleep, feeling worse and better at once.

The second time, he'd managed to do it while Sam was awake. And Sam had just smiled.

"What, that's it?" Dean had said.

"Isn't that the idea?" Sam had tossed the question at him lightly. At Dean's confounded expression, he'd smiled. "We're brothers, Dean. I don't have any problem with you getting gushy on me once in a while."

"Yeah, but.. but.."

"But what?"

Dean couldn't say he'd been getting up the nerve to kiss him over a week. It was too embarrassing. "Nothing," he'd said, stomping in the other direction.

And yet that night Sam had kissed him goodnight. And the kiss had been gentle, warm, affectionate. And long. Far longer than brothers were supposed to kiss, Dean thought with wild panic at the time.

But that, too, had become normal. They were closer than most siblings; of course they should share more affection than others did. And somehow Sam always knew just what to say when the fear and shame welled up inside of Dean. He didn't have to even ask; Sam guessed.

And Sam was the first one, one night, to slide his tongue into Dean's mouth. Dean's control faltered; he surged forward and clapped his hand on Sam's head, heat washing through him. When they were done, they were both flushed, sweaty, and hard.

"We don't tell anyone about this," Dean declared, trying to look severe.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, looking away. Dean took a bit of perverse pleasure in watching him look just as uncomfortable as Dean himself felt.

Anther half-week and their kisses were kept short and chaste. But kiss they did, plenty of times, and Dean found himself watching Sam talk to a witness or a grieving mother or daughter and thinking of the gently moving lips on his own, the skinny fingers on his skin. Then the world would come back into focus and he'd be all business, all testosterone and adrenalin, and those were the times of blessed relief.

Because he'd known Sammy all his life, had practically raised him when Dad was out on trips too dangerous for his pair of apprentices, and Sam was surely family. Because Dean had an eye for every skirt that passed by and knew how to charm the ladies well enough to get all the relief he needed, and still all he wanted to do was to walk up to his brother and...

That's where the fantasy usually ended. Enough of that, he'd said to himself. Enough of that. It'll pass.

It didn't pass. Like everything else before it, it became a daily routine. Dean's normal day now included ogling Sam and smacking himself down, and that perturbed him.

So it was a relief when one day Sam dropped to his knees and eased down the zipper of Dean's jeans, with gentle hands teasing out the erection that Dean had been trying for a half-hour to ignore. "Sammy.. agh.. what are you doing?" he'd said, his teeth suddenly clamped together and unable to move. Sam didn't answer, just began licking gently at the head of his cock. Dean sat back on the bed and watched the world turn to stars around him.

Strangely enough, Sam had acted as if it were perfectly normal. He rejected Dean's calls to "talk about this," saying he just wanted to make sure Dean was getting his needs met so they would be able to concentrate on the hunt more fully. It was almost an explanation Dean could live with. Why not? They were guys, after all, and they had an important job to do. There was no reason to deny himself. So he let Sam go down on him again a few nights later. And a few nights after that. And again, it wasn't long before it was perfectly normal to lie back on the bed, legs spread, feeling Sam's warm wet mouth on his cock and groaning deliriously as he gently fingered his own nipples and let pleasure take hold of him.

He never reciprocated. Sam never asked him to.

And then there was a night much like the first, the two of them in a double bed, Sam sleeping quietly as Dean stared at him in wonder.

He took one finger and traced the outline of Sam's face. Sam stirred but did not awaken.

"You scare me sometimes, Sam," Dean whispered hoarsely. "You scare me with how much I care about you. I shouldn't care about you, not like this. I wish we weren't brothers. I wish we..." The tears came too abruptly, and he had to choke them back before they could come spilling out. So he shut up and instead kissed the sleeping lips with a slow, deliberate passion.

It took him a moment to realize Sam's tongue was in his mouth, that his lovely eyes were open, that the shock waves he was feeling were coming from Sam's hand gently stroking up and down from shoulder blades to ass and back. He pulled back to look at Sam and saw half-lidded eyes dark with desire.

"I can't take much more of this," Sam said in a heated voice. "I've done everything I can do to tell you how I feel, but Dean, please. Love me or don't, but stop teasing me like this."

Dean froze a moment, shocked. Then he groaned and slid his hand between Sam's legs as their lips met again.

Sam whimpered a little and grabbed Dean's arms. Then, with a grunt of effort, he turned over and slammed Dean into the bed. The weight of him and the scent of him overpowered Dean and he inhaled deeply, spoke with honesty untempered by restraint. "Want you, Sammy," he declared. "Want you so bad I can't breathe."

Sam kissed him feverishly, crushing him with his weight. He lost his focus on Dean's lips and started kissing desperately across the line of his face, his jaw and neck. Then he paused, breathing heavily into the crook of Dean's neck, and whispered, "I want you too. It's fucking twisted, but I want you more than anything." He sucked on Dean's earlobe and ground his hips against him. "I don't know what's normal. I don't care what's normal. I just want you touching me. I want to fuck you. I want..."

This time it was Dean's turn to silence him with a kiss.

The bedsprings began to creak as Sam rolled his hips into Dean's, as they took the time to explore all the places they hadn't yet been willing to breach. Sam's fingers took long deliberate walks across the expanse of Dean's chest, and Dean slipped his hand between Sam's legs and pumped, sending Sam into spasms of "Oh, my God" and "please." Each tortured button and zipper at a time, they found their way to nakedness, eyes shooting long, appreciative glances at each other as they moved.

When Sam's naked body covered his, Dean lost patience and groaned low and long. "Sammy touch me _now_ touch me _now._" And Sammy was touching him, thumb rubbing thick arrows over the head of his cock again and again. And before long he was pulling his legs upward to expose his ass and was testing him, teasing him with slick fingers. Dean gritted his teeth. He knew he wasn't supposed to like that but goddamn it it felt _good,_ and he wondered if he wasn't turning into a _girl_ he wanted to be penetrated so badly.

Sam's tongue was deep in his mouth now and his erection was pulsing right at Dean's asshole and for all the wrongness, Dean felt a bright hot sharp thrill as the head of Sam's cock pushed its way inside. He felt huge, like he'd stretch Dean beyond his limits, but there was a buzzy goodness to the feeling of Sam's cock pushing into him, something about the clenching and the unclenching was exciting. Not normal, maybe, but exciting. Then Sam drove in at a different angle and Dean yelled out loud and grabbed him with shaking hands, biting into his shoulder.

"Do that again, Sammy. Do that again," he begged. His erection slapped against Sam's flat stomach with each thrust. He wanted to grab himself, pull and tug until he went insane, but there was no room, no place. Just irregular slaps of sensation and the bright hot buildup inside him. In frustration, he kicked at Sam's shoulders with the heels of his feet.

"Oh, Jesus," Sam swore in a whisper. "Dean. Turn around. Turn around." He pulled out and Dean scrambled to his hands and knees. Immediately Sam's hand, wet and smooth (the hand lotion beside the bed? Something stranger? Did it matter?), wrapped around his cock.

"Fuck, yes," Dean hissed. He was gone, he didn't care, he had no more pride. "Fuck me, Sammy. Please God please."

Sam stretched him out again briefly with the fingers of his other hand, then clamped hard on his hip to keep him steady. Soon enough he was buried inside him, stroking and tugging with that hand. For a split second of clarity Dean was aware of the whole thing, the fondling and the penetration and the sound of their whispered exclamations, the taste of Sam's breath in his mouth still, the dark patterns behind his eyelids. All five senses, and the awareness of what it all meant. They were together. Together on this bed. Fucking. Touching. Kissing. Being what they were meant to be to each other. What they had to be.

Dean spat a loud "Fuck!" as he came, coating Sam's sticky fingers and the musty bedsheets with semen in a series of powerful spurts. Shudders of pleasure turned his skin to gooseflesh. He pushed back into Sam's hips, doubly determined to give a little of what he'd gotten.

Sam gasped at the feel of Dean's thrusts. His hands clamped onto Dean's shoulders and forced him down into the sheet as he came, pulsing hot into Dean's ass with moans that were almost musical. He breathed heavy, shallow breaths into the air and slowly, achingly pulled out.

A moment passed where neither dared speak. The shadow of shame floated over their heads, deciding whether or not to take root.

But then Dean turned over, his chest and shoulders sticky white with his own come. The laughter that ensued was completely normal. And eventually they did fall asleep, in each other's arms, like normal.

Soon, this would be normal, too.


End file.
